


undisclosed desires

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: BOOOONE?!, Blessed and Thankful, Captain Fitzjames Will See You Now, Daptain Strikes Again, Francis Visits the Spank Bank, M/M, No Really: Spanking Ahoy, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 00:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16608254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: A willful Francis needs to be disciplined for the good of the voyage. Wanting only the best for his First, Captain Fitzjames rises to the occasion.





	undisclosed desires

Exhausted, damnably cross, and at the end of his patience with all his many duties, as well as with one Captain Francis Crozier, the last thing on God’s green earth James Fitzjames wanted to do before finally retiring to bed was to interrogate Lady Silence.

And yet, tragically, here in  _ Erebus’s _ Great Cabin he remained, along with the group of experienced Arctic explorers and Goodsir, bound by duty to attempt negotiation, despite her superior knowledge of the land, the game, his men, and the thing that hunted them. Unable to speak a useful word of Inuktitut.

Or rather, both of them unspeaking, at this point. Him due to utter lack of fluency and her due to – well. Pure spite, one supposed.

“Do we all agree she’s not co-operating?” he sighed into the air, as Francis’s latest circumlocution went unanswered. 

Naturally, Goodsir spoke up to defend the woman. “Sir, in the month that she’s been here, she hasn’t once mentioned leaving or made any attempt at escape.”

“Ever ask yourself why?” Blanky postured. “She’s frightened of it, also.”

Fantastic, thought James sourly. 

“Maybe it’s gone off somehow,” said Edward from the corner.

“Well.” The Irishman scowled in a displeased way as he sat back in his chair. “Then we must act. Lieutenant Little, Lady Silence is denied protection on this ship.”

God in heaven. Was Crozier so out of sorts he could not tell one cabin from another?

Little squawked in a rather undignified way as he turned to stare at Crozier. “Sir?”

Even Jopson tried to intervene from the safety of the doorway, which was positively unprecedented. “Excuse me, Captain, but we are – ”

“Thomas, escort her off  _ Terror _ . Let her back aboard only if she’s screaming for help.”

Blanky gave the  _ Terror  _ Captain a mutinous glare. “I will not, Francis.”

“We are not on  _ Terror, _ ” added James sharply. “This is my ship.”

At that moment, whether due to frustration or empty rage, Crozier gave into the urge of the drink, smashing one fist against the captain’s table as he roared out a typhoon command directly at the girl. 

_ “Help us stop it or you leave!” _

Before James could utter a word, the lady broke her silence at long last.

_ “And who is going to stop you? You use the wind to carry you here. You use the forest to hide inside. You use all this and don't even want to be here. Look at you. Even if I could help, you don't want it. You want their love more than you want to live. You want many things but you do nothing.” _

By the end of her tirade, Francis’s mouth had dropped open, and his face had blanched of all color. 

Infuriatingly, James still could not understand a thing the damn girl said.

Arching one inkstroke-thin eyebrow in disdain, Lady Silence looked directly at James, now, and met his surprised gaze in a purposeful, almost pointed manner, before she glanced back to Francis. 

_ “And you are tempted to want Long Boots as your sauniq most of all.” _

“Fucking hell, love,” boomed Blanky into the quiet. “You’re a brave one, eh?”

Still stymied, and hating his own obvious ignorance, James flicked his gaze from the Ice Master to Francis in an attempt to glean more information. It proved useless. Blanky was now concealing a small smirk behind one fist, disguised as a cough, while the  _ Terror  _ Captain’s mouth still hung open like a concussed carp.

None of the others seemed to have caught her meaning, either.

“Master Blanky?” asked MacDonald. “Did she just – what does the word – ”

Goodsir whispered his question to James, for some reason. “Captain, do you – I don’t believe I know what she means?”

A patchy flush had now rushed into Francis’s face as he finally addressed what James assumed was a very grave insult indeed. 

“How dare you speak to me that way.”

Lady Silence pursed her mouth in an amused fashion, and did not break her stare.

_ “How dare you imply – ” _ Francis growled again, more roughly, but stumbled to his feet without finishing this sentence, near-apoplectic with rage. “ _ God damn it all to hell!” _

Without another word, he pushed his chair over, and stormed out of the great cabin. 

Only one person went after him.

“Captain?” Jopson scurried quick down the orlop deck. In the distance, the door to the main stores slammed closed. “Captain, wait!”

“Will someone tell me what in God’s name just happened?” Fitzjames snapped. “What the hell did she say to him?”

Blanky cast a sidelong glance at Lady Silence before snorting out a breath through his nose. “You’ll not like it much.”

“Try me,” returned Fitzjames in a strict monotone.

Sighing, Blanky scrubbed one hand across his jaw, and over the back of his neck. “Aye, then. She says Crozier wants his men’s love more than he wants to live, tha’ he wants yours most of all, and that the two of ye’re meant to be – eh. Don’t think there’s a direct word for it on our end, slithee. The Yu’pik call it  _ aippariik _ , meaning a partnership, or two complements as a natural pair.”

_ “Oh,” _ breathed MacDonald, horror dawning on his face, as if this had illuminated some part of the conversation. “Good Lord.”

“Eyup. S’pose it’s called  _ sauniq  _ up ‘ere. Type of blood relation, aye? Husband and wife, like. Bone-to-bone closeness.”

“Bone?” repeated Fitzjames, incredulous.

The Inuk girl met Fitzjames’s furious gaze, now. Her lips quivered with laughter as she repeated what appeared to be her earlier sentence.

“Now she’s said it again,” Blanky pointed out unhelpfully.

“Why the hell’s she saying it, then? Can you translate that much?”

To his credit, Blanky did not falter, simply sucked his front teeth as he thought for a moment. “Might also be intendin’ a jape about the marriage bed, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Though I’ll not truly know unless – ”

Fitzjames had to shut his eyes against the deep, searing flare of temper that had suddenly spiked in his chest. His voice deepened to a soft, dangerous growl.

_ “Stop. Talking. At. Once.”  _

Surprisingly, Blanky did.

“Now, Master Blanky,” Fitzjames did not dare raise his voice, lest he lose all control, “I understand you have translated this upon request, for which I thank you. And you may tell our Lady in turn that she is  _ never _ to levy such filth at my feet again. In fact, I think I do not wish to hear her speak at all until it is to  _ beg my forgiveness  _ for such shocking rudeness _.” _

“So you’d like us to – keep her aboard, then, Cap’n? She’s not to go to  _ Terror? _ ”

Imperious, still furious beyond words, Fitzjames drew himself to his full height, swept his jacket closed, and glanced first at Goodsir. An Erebite. Someone he could command.

_ “You.  _ Keep her out of my sight until I order otherwise,” Fitzjames spat. 

Goodsir startled visibly at being directly addressed. “Oh – well – of course, sir, but – but where should I – ”

“I don’t give a damn where she goes or what you do with her.”

Only Little had the stones to voice additional questions. “But sir, what about – ”

_ “No one else leaves this room until further arrangements are settled.” _

Narrowed eyes darting over every officer’s blanched face, Fitzjames quelled any dissent with the sort of hateful, furious glare he had never turned on his fellow men before. Such a cold expression seemed more appropriate for Sir John Barrow than for a useless bastard aspiring to an Arctic command. 

Satisfied that the rest of the party would obey the orders they were given, only then did James depart; he turned on his heel and left the room, headed toward the hold.

Here, Jopson was still slumped against the closed door in a standing position, one hand pressed against the wood as if he were coaxing a frightened animal out from its hiding place. When he saw Fitzjames approach, he startled to full height.

“Captain Fitzjames.”

James was in no mood for arguments. “You will not keep me from him, Jopson.”

The steward bit the inside of his cheek, expression a rictus of anguish. “Please, sir, I beg of you. Captain Crozier’s not – ”

“Stand aside. Return to the Great Cabin with the other Terrors. That is an order.”

Sighing, the steward obeyed, although every movement indicated only the deepest reluctance, as if he would rather fling himself bodily into Fitzjames’s path if it meant no harm would subsequently come to his precious Crozier. And by God, why should Francis inspire such blind loyalty from a steward as amiable and capable as Jopson?

When James opened the door to the hold, then slammed and locked it behind him, startling Francis into turning, he was in no mood to contain his temper any longer. 

“Francis, you have lost your goddamned mind – ”

“You’ll call me what I’m due to be called!” Francis shouted first, mouth contorting in an ugly way, but Fitzjames cut him off, slamming a palm against the side of the nearest crate, and matching the  _ Terror  _ Captain’s tone measure for measure.

_ “By God, I shall not and will not – not till you comport yourself as befits your rank and duties on this expedition! As Captain of this vessel, I shall call on you to speak only when I deem it absolutely necessary, and not one goddamn moment sooner!” _

Francis had flushed an ugly tomato red, either from the drink or the utter shock at being shouted down by his Second. Either way, James did not stop.

_ “Lest you forget, Francis, at this precise moment, you reside on  _ my _ ship. And as you hold no written office whatsoever on this vessel, according to ship’s muster, you must fully abide by my rules.” _

Francis’s Irish temper seemed to now choke him with rage; whether ‘twas fury or horror keeping him silent, James did not yet know.

“Stand at attention when your Captain speaks to you!”

Years of drilling had Francis straightening to his full height by reflex, even whilst it was obvious he loathed such a prompt, automatic reaction to stern commands.

“Damn your – I’ll not take orders from my own goddamn – ”

“Hold your tongue,” Fitzjames snapped immediately. “I am  _ not _ finished.”

Francis shot him a hate-filled glare, but said nothing further.

The noxious, tense atmosphere stretched between them for several seconds before Fitzjames had a better handle on his own fury, and decided to address the matter at hand.

“Christ above, Francis. I know what the girl said.”

No response.

“Well? Is she right? Is that what this," Fitzjames waved a wild hand through the air, "little show of temper is all about?”

“Is that – ” Francis’s face blazed red as he sputtered for words. “How dare you e’en – Christ, I would sooner – ”

“What? Be mauled to death by the bergs? Sledge to Fort Resolution? Attend an Admiralty garden party?”

A rather pointed silence.

“Well? Speak, man!”

Francis practically growled in response. “You’ll not humiliate me like a beaten dog – ”

“I don’t give a good goddamn about humiliation, Francis! What I require in this moment is your absolute assurance that all willful obstinance shall cease – immediately!” He jabbed a finger at the  _ Terror  _ Captain, punctuating every rage-flung word with a stab of his hand. “You have endangered every man on this voyage with your vile, reckless behavior. You send Terrors skittering about my ship in open defiance of my orders. You stole sixteen bottles of spirits from my private stores. And all along, you have whispered to Master Blanky and other men in your confidence about  _ my  _ lack of knowledge and  _ my lack  _ of discipline, whilst showing none of it yourself! For god’s sake, Francis, you even have your own crew flogged for crimes you continue to commit with impunity!”

Francis’s eyes had rounded with what appeared to be panic, given that much of James’s tirade was undeniable. But it seemed he could not shout any longer. His voice was a rough hiss. “I am leader of this expedition entire – ”

“Yet you behave more like a goddamn ship’s boy.” A new idea took root in the back of James’s mind. A very wicked idea. “And until you conduct yourself in a manner befitting a leader, I shall treat you as a boy, starting this very moment.” 

“Jesus God. You’ve gone absolutely mad.”

James simply shrugged, unable to parry this accusation. “Perhaps so. But I am Captain of this vessel, and shall be treated as such. You have insulted your superior officer, and trespassed on his authority in public, in front of both subordinates and ranking wardroom officers. As a result, I must punish you.”

A feverish flush rushed to Francis’s face.  _ “What.” _

“I refuse to spend the rest of this voyage locked in a battle of wills,” James pitched his own voice very low to prevent it from shaking. “If a firm hand is what you require in order to truly learn this lesson, then by God, I shall impart its wisdom to you at once.”

“Firm hand,” repeated Crozier in a dumbfounded manner. Clearly, the severity of James’s words had finally been absorbed and understood. “Are – do you honestly mean to – to have me – flogged?”

“In front of God and ship’s company?” Fitzjames nearly laughed at the thought, cruel as it was. “Oh, no, Francis. That would not do – not one bit. No. Your punishment shall be conducted in private. Right at this moment, in fact.”

Crozier shifted on his feet, glanced down once, mouth falling open. “I – you – ”

Allowing his gaze to flicker downward, James saw that the Terror Captain’s trousers were now slightly silhouetted in the dim light, and raised a curious eyebrow at the jutting ridge that had appeared here. 

“Is there something to be enjoyed about this situation?” James asked.

“I – ” Francis glanced down again, agape, seeming not to understand how his body could betray him in such a visible manner. “No.”

“Sir,” corrected James at once. “Answer me honestly.”

“Sir,” rasped Francis through gritted teeth, as he glanced back up. A tinge of distress flashed through his eyes. “It isn't – I can’t – calm myself, sir.”

Several thoughts flashed through James’s mind at once.

“And I don’t feel –  _ that _ ,” Francis muttered, surly and gruff. “Don’t want to feel it, rather. Can’t help it.”

Lord. Grand empires should rise and fall in the amount of time it might take to parse this series of paradoxical declarations. And thus, James decided to treat this situation as if it were no more shocking than seeing a homesick boy weep for his mother after being ordered to holystone the lower deck.

“Well, it is no longer a question about what you want, is it?” James asked flatly, and swept closer, pacing back and forth in front of Francis in a leisurely fashion. “Your insubordination has come much too far for that. It is now a question about what you need.”

He paused, and turned to meet Francis’s now-incredulous gaze. “Pray, do not be ashamed to confide in your Captain. Let me guide you, Francis. What do you need?”

“I – ”

“Say it at once. Plainly, now.”

Francis winced, shut his eyes. The bulge in his pants lengthened and grew, and a flush of pink bloomed down past his collar. His next words were very meek indeed.

“Firm hand, sir.”

“Ah. Meaning you do wish to be disciplined for your crimes?” confirmed James, noting the twitch at Francis’s throat as the man swallowed, hard, and nodded his assent. “Oh, yes. I see that now. Insolent boy, stealing spirits from my stores. Disrespecting a Captain in front of his officers. Do not be troubled. I shall stop this horrid behavior in its tracks.”

Red blazed fierce in Francis’s cheeks now. “Please don’t switch me.”

“Switch you?” James could not yet tell if this plea was in earnest or part of their game, and sought to correct this presumption. “I should sooner put you over my knee. Strike you bare-handed till your bottom’s red as a maid’s lips. Would you prefer that to the cane?”

“I,” Francis actually gulped. His eyes flew open; blown-wide pupils near eclipsing bright blue. “James.”

Ah ha.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes,” rasped Francis finally.

“Yes, sir,” said James, but relented this severe affect after a moment. Such games must have boundaries. “Right. Give me a word, then. I shall discipline you as your former captains had not the courage to do, and correct such bedeviled lenience. And in doing so, I shall remind you who is Captain and master of H.M.S. _ Erebus _ . Yet I shall not,” he paused, “degrade you unjustly. You do not deserve mistreatment.”

They locked eyes.

“Discipline is for a boy’s own good,” Fitzjames concluded, more softly. “And for the good of the voyage. Now. Give me a word. To tell your Captain when he has gone too far.”

“I – er,” stammered Francis, and shifted on his feet again. “Platypus.”

_ What in god’s name – ? _

Fitzjames had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep an audible snort of mirth from escaping, but a not-insignificant amount of humour must have shone through in his own expression, because Francis’s eyes narrowed, and his brow took on a suspicious cast.

“‘Tis an odd word,” said James in an airy fashion, lips twitching as he attempted to regain his bearings. “But shall do for these purposes.”

Some measure of vague relief passed through Francis’s face.

“Now, then. To business. Stand at attention.”

Wordlessly, Francis drew himself up again, posture ramrod-straight.

“Remove your outer layers,” commanded James.

Francis did; shrugging out of his coat and pulling off his woolen mittens and scarf.

“Down to your shirtsleeves and linens. Remain at attention throughout – and do not displease me by dawdling.”

Quickly, Francis peeled off his waistcoat and unbuttoned his trousers, then stepped back into muster. James took the opportunity to circle him as a wild cat might circumnavigate its stunned and shivering prey, and took some fiendish glee in stepping on his perfectly-pressed trouser cuffs as he walked.

“You understand why I must punish you today?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.” A pause. “For my own good.”

“Indeed,” answered Fitzjames, and rapped Francis on the bottom with the back of one hand, merely testing the efficacy of such a game. Francis startled visibly, and his hips stuttered forward. “Now. Which crimes have you committed? Have you learnt your Articles of War, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” Fitzjames continued his leisurely walk, adjusting his vest with one hand as he went. “Pray, list them for your Captain in detail. Every one.”

“Drunkenness, sir.”

“Mm.”

“Dereliction of duty.”

“Go on.”

“Thievery. And,” Francis shut his eyes again, “cowardice, sir.”

“Cowardice.” James raised an eyebrow. He had never accused Francis of being a coward, despite all that had grown cold between them. “To what end?”

Francis made a noise like a cornered cat, low and mournful. “I planned to – abandon Sir John.” 

The very air seemed to rush from James’s lungs. He stopped walking.

“Wanted to make for Fort Resolute with canvas sacks and a single sledge, as Lieutenant Fairholme now does. Convince a group of men to join me, without revealing our true purpose till it was – ” he faltered “ – till we were gone.”

Shock rushed into James’s knees so viscerally he had to sit down on the nearest surface – a high crate – to keep himself from collapsing.

“Sir?”

James’s voice came out as a high, rough croak. “Don’t look at me.”

Francis turned away, stood even straighter. A muscle quivered visibly in his jaw.

The quiet stretched between them for nearly a minute before James felt he might be able to speak again. All the while, his heart hammered against his ribs in a near-panicked way, pulse tattooing a drumbeat against his throat.

“Why did you do that?” he asked finally.

Another pained noise. “‘Tis shameful.”

Nearly forgetting their game for a moment, James dropped all pretense at authoritative speech. “Please tell me the truth.”

An even smaller whisper. “I was frightened, sir. For - the men, as well as for myself.” Francis cleared his throat. “Didn’t want us to die.”

God damn it. 

Floored as he was, James could not fully fault the man for such reasoning. Hindsight had proved Francis right about the ice and the ships’ conditions time and time again. But what wounded James more than this knowledge – more than anything – was the idea that Francis would have so easily left him here alone. All alone.

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves.  _ Calm yourself. _

Francis did not go, and now he could not, and thus he would remain here. 

Thank God! Francis was still here.

“Then I shall punish you for your cowardice, as well,” said James after another moment of thought, though this was a treacherous breach of protocol. The true penalty for such mutiny – abandoning one’s ship and command, and disobeying an Expedition Commander – was death by hanging. “If you will thank me for my magnanimity. Most Captains would have you shot amid the full company for offenses far less grave.”

“Thank you, sir,” whispered Francis, in all apparent sincerity, and bowed his head for a moment. “I am greatly sorry for it, sir. Truly. It – ”

Wordless, James held up a hand to silence him. Francis quieted at once. 

“Naturally, you have earned yourself more strikes with this admission.”

Francis nodded his head yes. “I understand, sir.”

“Very well, then.” James took a deep breath, adjusted his position on the seat and steepled his fingers together as he spoke. “For the crimes of drunkenness, thievery, dereliction of duty, cowardice, and egregious falsehood, I sentence you to twenty strikes. In accordance with the Articles of War, this punishment shall be meted out by my own hand. And you are to be punished as a boy.” He paused. “Step forward.”

“Did – I’m to – lie on your lap?” Francis asked cautiously.

Glancing around, deciding he could not trust his legs to support him for the time being, James merely nodded, and held out one hand.

“Come here, boy.”

Francis did, walking over and squatting down in an awkward, self-conscious fashion, till he was able to shimmy his stomach and hips into place, and angle himself across James’s lap. Though James’s long legs allowed Francis to bend naturally at the waist to assume this position, it left the  _ Terror  _ Captain with his weight awkwardly distributed on his toes and not his heels, and meant that he had to brace himself on the next-nearest crate with both hands in order to stay horizontal.

“You shall count the blows,” James instructed, meaning this to be both convenient and memorable, as he was uncertain as to the strength of his own voice. “As I deliver them. Now, I shall lower your trousers.”

Raising his right hand, roughly yanking Francis’s linens down past mid-thigh, James took a moment to admire his First’s shapely, pale rear. Unlike many men of the  _ Terror  _ Captain’s age, who had gone soft and flabby or whittled down to naught but bone and cords, Francis still had the legs and strong bearing of a young explorer. Mainly muscle and heft, with so few of the fine freckles that dotted his nose and arms. Each cheek round and soft as a waxing moon.

“You’re lovely,” James said without meaning to, even as he raised his hand to strike the first blow. “Fine figure for a ship’s boy.”

A minute tremor rushed into Francis’s middle at the compliment, and his prick stiffened noticeably against James’s leg.

“How sad that I must needs blemish it,” James continued, airy, and brought his hand down with a hard  _ slap!  _

It was not as solid a blow as could have been delivered. It did not even truly sting his hand, simply made his palm tingle.

Still, Francis reacted very visibly to such a blow; his body jerked against James’s, and his breath stuttered in his throat. 

“Count.” James reminded him.

The  _ Terror  _ Captain let out a shallow exhale. “One.”

“Excellent.” James brought his hand down again, a patchy pink flush now bloomed bright on one apple-round buttock. 

Francis stiffened and groaned. “Two.”

Again. Again.

_ Three. Four. _

On the fifth strike, James’s blow did not land precisely on the meat of Francis’s buttock, but closer to where the gentle cleft of soft flesh met roped, strong leg muscle. When this blow landed, Francis quivered, his hands flexed against their precarious perch, and he rose up onto his toes with a choked noise.

“Number,” James reminded him.

“Five,” whispered Francis, and his cock, still pressed to James’s thigh, twitched noticeably under the strain of such neglect. “Oh, it’s – ”

“My, my,” commented James, as casually as if they were discussing the latest reports, or perhaps taking stock of the least interesting items in the hold. “What a naughty thing you’ve been whilst under my command.”

Another strike; to the same place. Francis gasped.

“Yes, sir. I am, sir. S - six.”

“Should likely have added another charge to your sentence. Considering such willful  _ dirtiness. _ ”

Another strike.

“I could withstand more.” Francis’s breath came in harsh, short bursts. “S – seven. Sir, I could – ”

“I did not ask if you _could_ stand it. I would ensure you could do.” Noticing the sudden stiffness in Francis’s limbs, coupled with his refusal to look at any part of James – not even the tips of his boots! – he decided to try a different tactic, remembering how much the man had enjoyed being complimented. “Because you’re a good boy at heart, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” This time, James’s fierce slap made Francis groan aloud, and strain against his legs as both hands tightened against their perch. “‘M good for you.”

“Excellent. Then count.”

“Eight. ’M sorry, sir. ‘S – ” a great inhale “ – hard to think.”

“I know it is, dear one,” James soothed, gently running his stinging palm across Francis’s now reddened backside, and briefly, between his buttocks. Francis whined and pushed his hips against James’s wool-covered thighs. “But you have promised to do as you’re told. Can you manage that?”

“Yes, sir. I can. I – ” 

“Wonderful. Good boy.” 

Another strike; Francis groaned aloud, though whether it was from the warmth now flooding James’s voice or the touch of his hand, he knew not which. 

“ _ Nine. _ Oh, god.”

“Tell me what a captain expects from a boy in his service.”

“Er. Obedience.”

“Yes. Exactly. How perfect.”

A hard slap; as before, Francis rocked forward with the momentum, the toes of his boots scrabbling for purchase against the icy deck.

“T – ten. Jesus God.”

How fascinating. The man drank up praise like a rare desert flower.

“And what else?” asked James, although he, too, was enjoying this; his own prick-forwardness was likely quite obvious now, even to Francis. “Good boys obey orders, you know. And are rewarded for their merits. I am sure I could reward you well, if I were very pleased with your conduct.”

“Yes. Again.” Francis was breathless. “Oh. ‘M good. I’ll not be bad.”

“No. You will not, and you are not.” James lifted his left hand to stroke a tiny path around the shell of the  _ Terror  _ Captain’s left ear. “But I should like you to listen well to your Captain at all times. Will you do it?”

“Yes, sir. Please.” 

“Please, what?” asked James.

“Sir.” Francis croaked, and pushed his hips into James’s leg again. “Keep on. Need it.”

“Oh, yes, I do see that, Francis. You merely want to make me proud, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hm. James’s tongue darted out briefly to wet his lips. “Then tell me what other duties I am owed, as Captain of this vessel.” 

“Ah – ah – allegiance.”

“Well done, dear Francis,” purred James.

Paired with another well-delivered  _ slap! _

Francis let out a shaky breath as James’s hand traveled from the reddened flesh of his buttocks all the way up his spine, beneath his shirt, and he shuddered visibly as James reversed this pattern, and his fingers brushed down the small of Francis’s back.

James did not let him linger over the sensations, but bent down to Francis’s ear, practically brushing it with his lips this time.

_ “Count, sweetheart.” _

“Eh – leven. Ohhhh. God, don’stop.”

“True allegiance is not the same as blind loyalty,” said James casually, letting his right hand wander between Francis’s buttocks. He caressed both stones and the tip of Francis’s cock before trailing his fingertips upward toward the tight ring of muscle. “‘Tis a sacred oath between a captain and his men. Putting all the needs of the voyage above one’s own.” He lowered his voice to a whisper as his index finger touched Francis’s most intimate spot in a gentle, rhythmic tapping motion. “Can you put others’ needs ahead of your own, Francis?”

“Oh!” Francis gasped like a man drowning, and bucked against James’s knees. “Oh. Please, sir, yes. I’ll show y’ – ”

“Hmph. We shall see,” murmured James, not unkindly.  Adjusting his posture so that he was now using his left hand to deliver the blow, he smacked Francis on the upper part of his bottom, all while continuing to pleasure the  _ Terror  _ Captain.

“‘Leven,” groaned Francis, on the edge of a low, gutteral grunt.

“Ah ah,” James corrected. He stilled his right hand, and removed his left entirely, stopping its excruciatingly-slow mapping of Francis’s chest. “Mind yourself, boy. If you lose count, I shall have to start over.”

“Start over.” Francis sounded as if he could not reconcile the words. And in this state, perhaps he could not do so. A broken keening sound escaped his lips. “No, please don’t – ”

“Count for me.”

“Twelve.” Francis gasped. “Please, sir. Twelve.”

The Irishman was already jelly-limbed with badly-suppressed desire. Sweat had formed on his brow and neck and lower back. James did not know if he could withstand much more, but by God, he would draw this out for as long as he dared.

“I adore your saying  _ please _ , sweet boy,” James answered after a long moment, putting his right hand to his mouth, sucking his index finger down to the knuckle until it gleamed wet, and then placed this slick digit against Francis’s entrance, gently rubbing, this time. “Shall I reward you for it?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, yes,” hissed Francis, as his breath hitched in his throat. “Ah!”

James slapped his bottom again; Francis’s hips jerked forward.

“Nnh. Wh – th – thirteen.”

“What a darling, beautiful thing you are, Francis. So pretty like this.”

“Oh, please.” A high-pitched gasp. “F – augh, don’t stop, sir. ‘M good. Please, I’ll – ”

Emboldened by Francis’s vocal appreciation, James delivered another smack with his left hand, this touch lighter and only on the high part of his bottom, where soft flesh met the curved knotted muscles of his lower back. The languid, light caress which followed this little tap started at the small of Francis’s back and spanned up to his shoulders. It was just gentle enough to enable full relaxation, only for a moment. 

Simultaneously, slow and careful, James guided the tip of his index finger forward until an inch of it was within Francis’s body.

Francis groaned like a stuck pig, shifting his weight forward onto his braced hands although both arms shook as if they were no more than two green twigs.

_ Smack.  _ James struck his backside more lightly this time.  _ Smack.  _ Again. Again.

Barely cognizant, Francis tried to keep count of the blows, but could no longer speak. And honestly, James no longer cared about the number. All he wanted to do was see Francis grunt and thrust and buck like a wild stallion in heat.

On the next strike, a visible shiver ran through Francis’s entire body, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Immediately, he scrambled to grab James’s wrist with his right hand. 

“Oh, god, stop. Stop. P - plat’pus.”

James ceased all movements at once, noting how much Francis’s hand shook between them. Tremulous as a hummingbird’s wing, mid-flight. 

“Are you all right? Have I hurt you?”

“Mm – augh! So fuckin’ close,” Francis whimpered, gulping in breath after shuddering breath. Legs twisting in an erratic manner, his fingers scrabbled frantically at James’s wrist, one arm positioned awkwardly between his own legs. “C – can’t –  _ hnnngh _ – fuhhh, please jus’ – ”

Fitzjames ran his free hand all along Francis’s upper back and legs in an attempt to relax him again. Thankfully, he had not hurt the  _ Terror  _ Captain, just brought him to his limit. “Shhh, my darling. All right. All right.” He exhaled deeply, and was shocked to note he was very near hysterics. A great gasping laugh threatened to bubble up from his throat. “We may need to utilize more than one word betwixt us, in future.”

Francis did not smile, merely moaned, and urged James’s hand on again.

_ “James.” _

Poor fellow really was prick-forward.

Slowly, James began to move his right hand, flexing his index finger down and to one side, in search of that most sensitive place inside a man’s body.

“Fucking  _ hell. _ ” Francis’s whisper was thready. He had begun to pant again. “Oh, god, yes. You – tha’s – Jesus Christ. Ah, fuck, James. Fuck!”

“Are you my good boy, sweetheart?” James asked, low and dark.

“Yes. Yes. ‘M so – goddamn – good.”

“Course you are, darling,” murmured James, quickening his motions. Francis arched his back like a spitting ship’s cat, quaking hips now snapping backward to meet James’s hand thrust for thrust. “There, now, my lovely sweet lad. Your Captain is so happy right now. You’ve pleased me so much. You feel so wonderful.”

Francis moaned and snapped his hips faster.

“F – ah!”

Whimpering loudly, he clapped one hand across his mouth, now tipping into Fitzjames’s left shoulder and upper body for balance as James continued to work him over.

“Since you have taken your punishment , I shall allow you to reap your reward,” James murmured in a silky baritone, reveling in the frisson of delight that passed through Francis’s middle at the words. He let his free hand, fingers spread wide, snake between their bodies and down Francis’s stomach to grab the man’s rigid cock. “Now. Are you ready to spend for your Captain?”

Amid the large hold, and given the insistent press of his own hand against his lips, Francis’s voice barely carried across the room. But given their intimate proximity, James caught every blessed, muffled word.

“ _ Please,  _ J – ah. Ah!  _ God _ –  _ fuhh – hnn _ –  _ ‘m ‘bout to c – ! _ ”

His voice broke across the word, transforming into a high, panting mewl.

Pressing his finger up and against Francis’s most sensitive place, and pairing this localized, frenzied touch with one last soft  _ slap!  _ of his left hand against the underside of Francis’s cock, James felt the tremors begin deep in Francis’s body before their full effects were made known. Over the course of half a minute, the  _ Terror  _ Captain whimpered like a pup as his limbs shook harder and harder, his back arched like a poised bow, his innermost muscles tightened and then released around James’s finger in strong, sharp bursts, and suddenly, Francis ducked his head and bit at the fabric of James’s jacket, straining, rising up onto his toes with a strangled cry as he reached his zenith, and spilled across his linens.

“Oh, Francis, sweetheart. My dear darling boy,” James guided him through the fall with tender words and even more tender hands, careful to keep the man from collapsing into the floor, now that their game was at an end. After several seconds, he extricated his right hand, and wiped it clean on the back of Francis’s linens. Francis let out a sob of a groan; his hips twitched uncontrollably whilst his entire body shook as if he were frozen through. “You’ve done so beautifully tonight. So very well indeed. I am so proud. You were utterly lovely.”

Trembling, unable to speak, the tears that had pooled in Francis’s eyes now spilled down his craggy, reddened cheeks. Still in the grip of reflex, stripped of all reserve, he shivered against James’s chest and legs, curling up as close as he could in such an awkward position, James cradling his head and neck as well as the back of his bare thighs.

“‘M not bad, James,” he kept whispering, followed by the most pathetic sniffs and snorts. “Please. ‘M not bad – ”

“Shhh. There, now. Of course you are not bad, Francis. You are – merely cautious. And – rather headstrong. Neither are inherently good nor ill, hm?” James let out a deep breath, hoping it would prompt Francis to do the same. “But you must use these traits in a constructive manner, rather than – ” 

He stopped speaking mid-sentence, gentling his continued caresses till they were naught but light, long strokes up Francis’s tremulous back and neck. Perhaps it would be better to appeal to the man’s egalitarian nature as he came down from the peak, and they prepared to resume their usual roles.

“In truth, I feel damnably useless when kept ignorant and at arm’s length. And I have often wished you would solicit my assistance. I – well, Francis, I – need that much from you. Even if I have not your experience or your knowledge, I cannot spend the remainder of our voyage standing idly by whilst my men suffer needlessly for it.”

The  _ Terror  _ Captain said nothing for several seconds, but let out a shuddering exhale.

“There you are, now. Breathe just like that. You’ll feel so much better.”

“Hmmm,” Francis finally murmured, after what felt like several minutes had passed. The last of the tension melted from his loose-limbed frame, and he pressed his forehead into James’s trouser-clad thigh for the briefest of seconds. At the same time, he squeezed James’s left thigh with his right hand, although he could barely crook his fingers all at once. “I’ll not keep you out again, James.”

He rolled slightly to his right, and glanced up; blue eyes oddly open and soft as he met James’s gaze. “I promise.”

With a start, James realized he had been stroking the man’s hair with his left hand, and abruptly pulled the offending arm back.

“Well, then. Er. You may rise when ready, Francis. I – suppose our game is finished.”

Wobbly-legged as he staggered to his feet, Francis had already buttoned his trousers and fixed his shirt when his cheeks seared a bright patchy pink, and he whirled back round to gawp at James – or more precisely, at James’s still-clothed lap.

“Christ on a sodding biscuit. You’ve – did you not need – ?”

“Ah.” Abashed, James glanced down; as evidenced by his trousers, he was still half-hard, but resolution of this condition seemed far beyond his means at present. “Well, I – afraid I’m rather exhausted tonight, actually.”

“Oh,” said Francis, quietly, as if such failure was somehow his fault. Averting his eyes, he shrugged into his waistcoat and jacket.

“‘Tis no reflection on you,” James hurried to add. “The repose of sleep often abandons me at most inopportune times, and leaves me quite discombobulated. Rest assured you are the very picture of virility. As masculine as Heracles himself.”

“Oh,” said Francis again, but the timbre of his voice was less disappointed this time, almost… slyly pleased. Which would be nothing short of miraculous.

“Granted, given everything, I imagine I shall – ”

“If you find yourself in need of a favor,” Francis interrupted, rather boldly, all things considered, “then you know where to call on me. I – would – put your needs above my own, as you have done here.”

Fitzjames blinked once. Twice. Again. The end of his sentence –  _ I imagine I shall dream of this tonight  _ – fell away and dissolved into the air like a mist of fog.

“Well. I – greatly appreciate your kindness, Captain Crozier.”

Although the mood shifted between them with the use of Francis’s title, the tips of the  _ Terror  _ Captain’s ears had gone pink again; one last remainder from their earlier game. He had to clear his throat to speak. 

“Pleasure would be all mine, James.”

With that, before James could even conjure up a decent rejoinder, Francis bade his leave, opening the hold door and striding down the narrow corridor with all the renewed authority of his office. With luck, he was headed for the Great Cabin. James himself would need to check on the  _ Terrors  _ there in a few minutes, if not sooner.

 

_ epilogue _

 

Several days later, going through his latest translations with Lady Silence, Harry Goodsir was stunned and then annoyed to hear boot steps on the stairs a mere half hour after the guard had departed for his supper. According to his pocket watch, they ought to have fifteen minutes yet remaining in the lesson. 

But it was not Le Vesconte who had come down following supper today – it was the Captain himself.

“Captain Fitzjames,” Harry exclaimed, and sat up. “My goodness.”

The man appeared to be in far better spirits at present than he had been when last they spoke; a knowing smile danced around his mouth as he bid them both hello. 

“Mister Goodsir. Lady Silence.”

Goodsir turned to gauge his pupil’s expression; she seemed wary but not perhaps surprised that he had paid a call to them today.

“Well, I shan’t keep you from your duties,” the Captain said briskly. “In truth, I have come to apologize for the other evening. I am afraid I took out both my temper and my exhaustion on the two of you, and it was – rather unbecoming for a man of my rank. Such a lapse shall not occur again.”

“Goodness,” said Goodsir, who was flattered and shocked to hear such a thoughtful apology from Captain Fitzjames, of all people. “Well, I – thank you, sir. That is very much appreciated.”

He translated the bulk of this apology for his friend, although the Lady did not yet respond.

“And,” Fitzjames turned to Silence, very purposefully meeting her gaze, “I wish to let you know that the – bad feelings between myself and Captain Crozier will no longer determine how we approach our company’s relations with you or your people.”

“Oh,” said Goodsir brightly, and was pleased to translate this for her, although he could not quite parse the word  _ relations,  _ and so substituted the word  _ friendship _ . “How wonderful. You and Captain Crozier have – made amends, I take it.”

“Well,” Fitzjames pursed his mouth, and appeared thoughtful. “More or less.”

Harry allowed himself to smile. “I suppose that meeting was rather fraught, eh?”

A small, soft voice to his right: _ _“Ihumařuŋa Captaiup iglirminngaaqtut.”_ _

Hang on. What did she just tell him?  _ I think….they are coming from the Captain’s... _

_ “Did you say bed or house?” _ demanded Harry in Inuktitut, slightly aghast. He could not have heard that correctly, could he?

Her little smile grew, but she did not answer nor look away from Captain Fitzjames, simply waited for the man’s reaction.

“Yes,” answered Fitzjames after a long moment, inclining his head at the Lady. His dark eyes positively twinkled with good humour, as if he understood her perfectly. “You are quite right, madam.”

Puzzled, Harry switched back to English. “Sir, I – we may have lost the details in translation. I am not certain what the idiom – ”

“Well, do not trouble yourself over it, Mister Goodsir. Her words are most kindly meant, I am sure. Give your friend my sincere thanks, and tell her we shall convene a more formal discussion later today, in  _ Terror’s _ Great Cabin.”

“Wh – wait – that doesn’t answer my – question,” Goodsir stammered, but it was too late, the Captain was already departing, his sleek boots trod heavy on the stairs as he trotted back up to the mess. 

Bewildered, he turned to his companion, who remained in visibly high spirits. 

“What did you say to him?”

She let out a small giggle, and quickly hid this behind one hand before pulling her fingers away and answering him in English, her dark eyes shining with mirth.

“Not… bad. Just true.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, even as he tried to keep a stern face. Eyes lighting up again, she pointed to his expression, then drew an inverted curve in the air with one finger before pointing to her own face, and beaming in kind.

“ _ Long Boots _ seem happy,” was all she said. “After sleep.”

“Oh! Thank goodness.” Goodsir sagged against the wall of the hold in relief. He did not think their tenuous truce with Captain Fitzjames could survive yet another obscene accusation. “And yes, I agree, he  _ seems  _ happy. Got an ess on the end when you’re talking about other people. Captain Fitzjames seems happy. I  _ seem _ happy – that’s another word for look – or I  _ am _ happy. To describe the feeling.” He let out a contented sigh. “Anyway, let’s continue being, er, cordial with him, shall we? Although, have you heard the word cordial? It’s – a sort of – I suppose you could frame it as being, ah – a type of respect –  _ iliragiřara? _ Hm, perhaps intimidated by is not the correct turn of phrase. Although the man is rather striking.  _ Iřvilli?”  _

He gestured toward her with both hands. There would need to be a lot of signing help with this one. “How might you describe someone important among your people?”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> OKAY I pretty much wrote this in an attempt to work the phrase "Bone?!?!" into a Terror fic (shoutout to my fellow B99 fans), but it turned into something crazy and yet delightful, so I regret nothing. Rewatching ep. 4, Francis would certainly let Bossy!James jerk him around in all senses of the word.
> 
> Also: there are a lot of interesting pieces to read re: Inuit naming conventions, homosocial behavior in Inuit culture, and how that affects (modern) gay rights stuff in Nunavut communities.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Sauniq = literally, "bone", but usually describes relationships/namesakes  
> Ihumařuŋa Captaiup iglirminngaaqtut. = I think they are coming from the Captain's bed  
> Iřvilli? = What about you?


End file.
